Warm jumper on a windswept day,
So cold...
Just right...
Then boiling like a jolly frog,
On and on and off again,
Like all its bumbling rolls and seams,
It's fastened bumps and stretchy sleeves,
Go hot then cold then just quite right,
It pokes a tongue pink at the wind,
No sweeping casts it's warm embrace away.

Dancing with my many words,
Words I borrowed,
Words I'm told and read aloud,
Words I'm given forge and smith,
So rich a language,
To smack into shape,
And to convey so many thoughts,
With dancing words I will.